XMen Origins: Sabertooth
by IsabelleBlue
Summary: This is based off the movie X-Men Origins: Wolverine. SabertoothOC. This is Victor’s story, what’s happening to him in the parts of the movie we don’t see.
1. Chapter 1

**TOKEN DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. ONLY MY OCS ARE MY OWN. THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT DON'T READ IT, IT'S RATED M FOR A REASON. THIS IS BASED OFF THE MOVIE X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE. I AM ATTEMPTING TO KEEP IT ACCURATE, SO FEEL FREE TO LET ME KNOW IF I MESS SOMETHING UP. THIS VICTOR'S STORY, WHAT'S HAPPENING TO HIM IN THE PARTS OF THE MOVIE WE DON'T SEE. IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN THE STYLE OF MUSIC MY OC SINGS, THINK RENEE OLSTEAD AND THE PUPPINI SISTERS. THANK YOU, LIEV SCHREIBER, FOR A MUCH MORE AWESOME AND SEXY SABERTOOTH.**

_Four years after Jimmy left_

It was late and Victor was settled into his new favorite bar nursing a bottle of scotch. He'd found this place months ago and had been coming here pretty religiously ever since. I wasn't his typical rough scene, but they played old WWII jazz and it soothed him, reminding him of better days. When it was he and Jimmy against the world.

There was one singer here he particularly liked. She was a frail like any other, if slightly more attractive then usual, but her voice! Most frail's, when they sang, irritated him. He could hear every little fault and hesitation, every missed pitch, and they grated on his sensitive ears. But this frail! Her voice was clear and bell-like, no missed notes or hesitations. He could listen to her for hours.

She was here again tonight, which accounted for his particularly mellow mood. He watched her as he drank his scotch. He thought she was attractive, beautiful really, with that fall of dark, curly hair, red lips and pale skin he wanted to run his claws through. He thought she'd look good in red.

He'd thought about taking her. Playing with her while she screamed in high bell-like tones. He'd made girls disappear before, all part of his 'special privileges'. That one in particular he'd exercised a great deal since Jimmy'd left.

But . . . he shook his head, banishing that thought. He'd already decided. Lots of frails were only good for a quick fuck-and-kill. This one he'd leave alone, let her keep singing. He'd miss her if she was gone.

So he leaned back in the booth. Stretching out his long legs and sipping from his bottle of scotch, letting her song wash over him.

At closing he strode out, using the back door out of cautious habit, completely de-stressed. He leaned against the wall of the alley, taking a deep breath of the night air.

A crash sounded behind him and he turned, listening. It was coming from inside the club. He heard . . . sounds of a struggle and a few juicy curses. He grinned; they were being burglarized.

He shrugged, not his problem, and turned to walk away. Then, the night was pierced by a particularly identifiable bell-like scream.


	2. Chapter 2

Suddenly concerned, Victor spun on his heels and shouldered his way through the locked backdoor. In one swift glance he took in the scene: Two thugs, little more then street punks by the look of their clothes, were manhandling his songbird toward the stage, their intent clear. The bartender was on the floor in the midst of the broken wood and glass remains of a table, either dead or unconscious.

On silent feet he stalked forward, the amateur punks too stupid to check their surroundings, distracted by the girl they were planning to rape.

He pulled thug #1 off her and ripped out his throat before he even realized what had happened. He was dropping him to the floor as thug #2 swung around in surprise and pulled out a gun.

He was able to get off one shot before Victor, roaring, wrenched the gun out of his hand, breaking his wrist in the process. Even as the little shit tried to scramble back in terror, Victor grabbed his head in his big palms and snapped his neck before shoving him away like so much garbage.

The room went quiet. The only sound, his songbird's harsh breathing.

She looked up at him from her half-reclining position on the stage, she hadn't moved since he'd pulled the thugs off her. They stared at each other for a moment as he took a deep breath. There was fear in the air, definitely, but it was dissipating, she wasn't afraid of him, at least not much anyway. Interesting.

He came over to her slowly, crouching down beside her. The whole time she just watched him with wide blue eyes, not moving or making a sound, propped up with her elbows behind her.

Watching his claws to make sure he didn't accidentally cut her, he lifted her chin with his hand. "You okay, frail?" He thought she might be in shock, she looked flushed and her pupils were dilated.

She seemed to shake herself, suddenly focused on him. Then she smiled crookedly, "Thanks to you."

He took another deep breath, enjoying her mildly honey-flavored scent and paused. Was that-? Yes. He distinctly caught the musky smell of feminine desire. This little frail wanted him.

A leer spread across his face. "Thank me with a kiss," he growled and watched as her eyes widened in surprise and the sweet smell of sex grew stronger.

Slowly, she got up, ending up kneeling in front of him, to be able to reach, he was so much taller then her. Tentatively her small hands smoothed over his shoulders. All the time he waited with predatory stillness.

She met his eyes again; he was almost drowning in their gleaming blue as she leaned in.

Her lips were softer on his then he'd imagined, plumper and it was all he could do to not to devour her, to take what he wanted like he had done in the past. But somehow, something stopped him. Her tentative desire was more attractive then all the blood and screaming he could force from her. Still, his desire was rising and he slanted his mouth over hers, tasting her, cupping the back of her head in one big hand.

She moaned and clutched at his shoulders, leaning into his chest, pressing her soft, sweet breasts against him for a moment before wrenching herself away.

Panting, she looked up at him all big eyed and there was something in her expression he couldn't decipher. It was like fear, but different, he'd seen terror in enough faces to know. "What's wrong, frail?"

Again that crooked smile, she put the back of one hand to her flushed face. "I just . . . I'm sorry . . . I don't even know your name."

He grinned, enjoying how flustered she was. "Victor."

"Olivia." she returned, still looking up at him.

Suddenly, his sensitive ears picked up sirens. He looked toward the front door, concentrating. Yes, they were definitely coming this way.

He looked back at his frail. He hated to go, but police tended to react only one way to him and he didn't really want to get shot any more tonight. Tomorrow was another day.

Grabbing her by the back of the head again, his kissed her hard and fast, pulling away as she was still gasping in surprise. "All right, frail, the police are comin'. You tell them what happened, just don't mention my name, got it?"

Olivia nodded dumbly and he leapt away, almost to the backdoor before she could blink.

The last thing he saw before he left was her getting shakily to her feet and going to bend over the bartender.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Victor was called out on a mission and he was gone for two weeks. It had irritated him at the time, because he'd planned on stalking his frail, but he'd finally decided that it was for the best. The time away had been good for him. It had cleared his head of lust and he'd realized what a rare opportunity he had. His songbird wanted him, genuinely desired him and that was a rare thing in his experience. So, he'd resolved to court her like people used to, like normal men like Wilson did and see if he could coax her to him willingly. And if she didn't, well . . . then he'd take what he wanted.

So, the first night he was back he put on a collared shirt over his tank, very dressed up for him, and headed out to her club. When he entered, it was as dark and smoky as usual and his songbird was already up on stage. He grinned ferally at her as her voice coiled around him in the dim light.

She smiled as she sang when she spotted him and winked saucily.

His grin widened, flashing fangs and he headed toward the bar to get a bottle of scotch. Soon settled into a booth in the back, he watched his prey. Tonight, she was singing with two other frails. He didn't like it as much. They were attractive enough to look at, he supposed, but their voices grated. No one sounded like his songbird.

Now, as he sat watching her, he realized he liked what she wore too. She dressed to match the music, in 40's style dresses and heels, even her hair and makeup reminded him of that time. Tonight, she wore a black-sleeveless dress with little red polka-dots and shiny red pumps. The black made her skin glow in its paleness. He liked that.

He could tell they were nearing a break and, when she looked toward him again, he crooked one clawed finger at her.

She arched her brows at his arrogance but then her face softened and she blew him a kiss.

He took that as assent.

After the song ended she said something to the two frails with her and then headed toward him by way of the bar, picking up a glass of ice on her way. She came up to him, saying softly, "Victor," before leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Once he'd realized where she was aiming, he turned swiftly and caught her lips. He had to repress and grin at her soft gasp of surprise before he kissed her deeply, with all the pent of frustration of the last two weeks. When he pulled away she was looking quite dazed so he plucked the tumbler out of her hand and pulled her, unresisting, into his lap.

As she drew up her legs and leaned against his chest getting comfortable, he splashed scotch over her ice and handed the glass to her. He breathed in the scent of her, honey and woman and desire. He couldn't get enough of it.

After, sipping daintily, she looked at him, and asked a little sadly. "Where've you been?"

His gaze hardened at her questioning him and she looked away, fear tingeing her scent just a little. Satisfied she was properly cowed, he answered, "Was shipped out, just got back, frail."

"Oh," she said softly, and he realized that it wasn't just her singing voice that he liked; she sounded almost as good just talking to him. "I thought . . ."

He grinned at the disappointment in her tone. His plan was working. "Wasn't gonna leave ya, frail, haven't even tasted you yet," he said, as he trailed his claws carefully down her neck and she shivered, the scent of desire strengthening.

They spent the rest of the night like that. He let her get a little tipsy and then kept her off the scotch. They talked about silly things: likes and dislikes, movies, and cars and such. He didn't really see the point in it, but it kept her in his lap and cuddled up to him, an entirely new experience for him. One he found he liked. He'd kissed her, deeply, several times, just enjoying the slow burn of desire between them.

At the end of the night he pulled her up, intending to walk her home.

She balked, looking away from him as she said, "Um, it's okay, Victor, really, I can walk home by myself."

He snorted at her stupidity. "You usually walk home by yourself?"

She looked over toward the bar, clearly searching for someone. "Ah . . . no, Bill walks me, but I think he's already left for the night."

"Then I'll walk you home." He replied implacably, surprisingly not all that annoyed by her resistance.

"I'll be fine," she replied, equally exasperated, trying to plead with him with her big blue eyes.

He was unmoved. "Like you were the other night?" He asked harshly, shaking her a little with one big hand around her upper arm. It was amazing how delicate she was, he could almost make a fist around it. He'd have to be careful not to break her when he finally fucked her.

He caught the scent of fear tingeing the air again and he thought he might know what this was about. He leaned in toward her until she leaned back as far as she could with his fist around her arm, her eyes wide and blue. "I ain't gonna fuck ya if you don't want me to."

She gasped at his crudeness and flushed, but the fear dissipated.

He grinned at her flashing fang, "You're probably the only frail who can say that."

So, he walked her home. To a sweet little townhouse apartment, and left her at the door, like every other normal. And, if she was breathless with wanting him, and that sweet scent was flooding the air, all the better. He walked away whistling.


	4. Chapter 4

It continued this way for a couple weeks. He took her out to dinner and to movies but they never fucked. At first holding back was difficult. After all, he was unaccustomed to this kind of deprivation. But, as time went on, he began to enjoy withholding himself from her.

She was almost to the point of begging him to fuck her and he'd decided to wait for that. Her pleading and desire were so sweet. Something else he'd never really experienced before: someone pleading for him **to** touch them. He found he enjoyed that, as well.

Then, one day on the island he heard Dukes teasing Wilson about some frail he couldn't talk into fucking him. Normally he wouldn't have paid any attention but Wilson mentioned something about a jazz club and cool fingers of apprehension slid down his spine.

He stalked up behind Wilson, clapping a big hand on his shoulder and causing him to jump, which made Victor smile. "Found a frail that's too good for you?" he asked nastily.

Wade visibly bristled, while Dukes guffawed. He took great pride in his prowess with woman and often lorded it over Victor. He couldn't fail in front of him now; he'd never hear the end of it. "No." he replied, annoyed. "She just needs a little more persuading, that's all."

Victor grinned ferally, now starting to enjoy the idea that this might be his songbird they were talking about. He'd love to see Wilson's face when she picked Victor over himself. He clapped him harshly on the back, enjoying his flinch. "Well, then why don't we go there tonight and you can . . . introduce us."

Dukes nodded, agreeing and grinning as well. He'd been teased one too many times by Wilson.

Wade looked at them both, and couldn't come up with a way to get out of it. "All right," he said, defeated, "Meet me tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

When they arrived his frail was already up on stage, alone tonight, just how he liked. He, Dukes and Wilson got a table much closer to the front then he was comfortable with. He preferred his back to the wall, now that Jimmy wasn't there any longer to protect it, but he persevered.

After they sat down, Wilson turned to them and said, "Well, what do you think?" nodding his head toward Victor's frail up on stage.

Ha. He'd been right.

Dukes looked at his songbird and then at Wilson, "That's her?"

She looked good tonight, Victor thought. She was wearing a red dress, with a deep heart shaped neckline. Blood red, just how he liked it, and it made her glow. She looked like an old 40's pinup.

When Wilson nodded yes, Dukes whistled low. "Maybe she **is** too good for you."

Victor barked a laugh at that.

Wilson just looked affronted. "You'll see," he said, turning back to watch Victor's frail.

Yes. They **would** see.

Just then her song ended and she put a hand over the microphone to whisper with a member of the band for a moment. He wondered what she was up to. Then, they separated and began the next song. At the opening words she smiled and winked at him and he couldn't help grinning back. It was_My Baby Just Cares for Me._

Wilson, the chump, thought the wink, since they were at the same table, was for him. It never entered his mind that he might have competition. He nudged Dukes, clearly thinking he had somehow made headway.

Victor just shook his head and grinned.

A couple songs later and their set was over. His frail headed right over to the bar to grab his scotch and her glass, as had become habit for them. He watched her, his eyes drawn to her like a lodestone, until Wilson stood up.

"Well, wish me luck." he said, ignoring Victor when he snorted.

Dukes mumbled, "Good luck," to his back as he strode off to hit on Victor's frail.

They watched as he approached her, tapping her on the shoulder from behind. She turned and looked up at him, Victor thought he was the only one to detect the disappointment she quickly masked. They talked. If he'd tried, he probably could have heard what they were saying, even in the noisy club, but he didn't really care. From their body language he could see Wilson proposition her, hope on his face. And then her reaction, a negative, but trying to let him down nicely. She reached out a slim hand as if to touch his forearm, consolingly, but hesitated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye and then pulling back.

He felt a wave of satisfaction at her caution. That's right, she was **his** and he wouldn't have her touching any other man.

Wilson turned around and made he way back to their table, dejected, but trying to cover it.

Dukes, the idiot that he was, had no idea what had just happened and asked stupidly, "How'd it go?"

He sat down and blew out a breath. "She's 'involved' with someone."

"Well, maybe if you kicked his ass . . ." Dukes pondered.

Victor wasn't able to stifle a snort at that.

They both looked at him.

"Do you . . ." Wilson began, looking at him consideringly, "know who she's with?" He'd never been a dumb one.

Just as he was about to reply, _Yeah. __**Me**__._ A shadow fell across the table and they all looked up.

"Hello, Victor." His frail smiled down at them, plunking the bottle of scotch she carried down and leaning in to peck him on the cheek.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dukes' and Wilson's jaws both dropped. Smirking he twisted his head at the last second and caught her lips in his, pulling her onto his lap as she gave a muffled, "Eep!"

He broke this heated kiss once he felt his point had been made. She was gasping for breath, face flushed and eyes glazed. This frail was **his**. Smiling, fangs flashing, he plucked the ice-filled glass from her lax hand, adding her customary splash of scotch before taking a long pull from the bottle, waiting for the fireworks to start.

"Uh . . ." Dukes began. Typical genius comment, Victor thought. "She with you, Victor?"

"Evidently," he drawled, letting his songbird cuddle up to him, enjoying the straight up shock on their faces. She pecked him on the cheek and he had to repress a grin.

Wilson still hadn't said anything. Victor decided to help him along. He was just full of good intentions today. "So, Wilson, what was that about takin' on her fella?"

Wilson just looked flabbergasted . . . and a little scared. "Well . . . let's not be hasty, Victor. That's not exactly what I said."

"Ummhmm," the disbelief was clear in Victor's tone.

Wilson stood up, Dukes quickly following his lead. "Well . . . I'd offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you're all set there." He waved vaguely at Victor's scotch bottle and glass. "So . . . you two have a nice evening. We've got to get back."

They made tracks, much to Victor's amusement and his songbird turned to him. "You have fun tonight?" her tone was rueful.

He grinned, pleased with himself. "Yeah, I did, frail."

She laughed softly, "Well . . . at least **somebody** did."


	6. Chapter 6

One night, Stryker called Victor in for an assignment. It was all very usual. He handed him a file, said, "Pick a team. This should be no problem for you: Female mutant, no offensive powers, lives in the area. However," He looked at Victor pointedly, "this may be **the** most valuable collection we've done yet, so don't hurt her." Then he smiled nastily, "At least not much."

Victor grinned. Sometimes he and Stryker were on the same wavelength. He gave a sarcastic, "Yes, sir," and headed out of the room, already deciding on his team.

He flipped the file open as he walked and almost stumbled in surprise at the photograph staring up at him. It was **his** frail, his songbird, his **Olivia**.

He stood, stock-still, in the middle of the hallway, just trying to process it.

She was a **mutant**, **his** Olivia. And all this time she'd never told him. Was she deliberately keeping it a secret? What was her power? She must be powerful for Stryker to be so interested. 'No offensive powers' he'd said. Was she manipulating him somehow? Like SilverFox was supposed to be doing to Jimmy?

Rage bubbled up and he clenched his big fists, crumpling the file unnoticed, in his anger. Was that why he'd been acting so out of character with her? Not fuckin' her until she bled like he usually liked to. Mind control? Was any thought his own? Betrayal roared though him. He trembled with it.

He looked back at the file. He didn't need a team for this. He'd take care of it himself. **Personally**.


	7. Chapter 7

When he arrived at her door, he quietly tried the knob, not surprised when it turned easily. He'd disapproved of her penchant for leaving her doors unlocked and said so, but she'd ignored him, much to his surprise. One thing people never did was ignore him.

Now, it would work to his advantage.

Silently slipping into the apartment, he was surprised to see that it was gloomy. There was barely even enough light for him to see by, let along a half-human frail. For a moment he considered the possibility of her being asleep, even though it was early. But then he caught her honey scent and the sound of her breathing nearby.

His head swung around, and he spotted her sitting at her little dining table under the window.

"Hello, Victor," her clear voice come out of the shadows.

She wasn't even looking toward him, instead concentrating on pouring more scotch into her glass in the dark.

She looked up after taking a sip, not quite in his direction, confirming that she couldn't see him in the shadowed room. "Is there something I can help you with?" she asked coolly, sipping again.

"I'd offer you a drink," she held up the half-empty bottle mockingly, "but I don't think I have enough."

He realized then, she was drunk.

Why exactly was she sitting alone in the dark, drinking? Had she known he was coming?

He shook his head.

Impossible.

"So, Victor, what brings you here? We going out? You finally decided to come across? Or was there something you wanted to talk about?"

All right. She definitely knew something.

Pissed, he stalked to her, grabbing her roughly out of her chair and holding her by her upper-arms.

She half-heartedly struggled to get away as he shook her and said in an ugly voice, "What do you know?"

He caught the scent of fear from her. Finally, she was beginning to understand how much danger she was in. She looked at him and again, he couldn't help but notice how big and blue her eyes were.

"I know a lot of things," she finally said, sadly. Her tone making him relax his grip a little. "What in particular are you referring to?"

He released her, and she slid back into her chair. He crouched down in front of her, still putting effort into intimidation.

Not that he really needed too.

He leaned into her space and growled. "You're a mutant, and it never crossed your mind to tell me?"

He caught another tinge of fear from her, but she still answered back defiantly. "I don't tell **anyone**."

The conclusion he drew from that was not a good one.

"Oh. So a mutant's good enough to fuck but you don't want anyone to know you **are** one?"

She gasped, affronted. "Of **course** not."

She reached out as if to touch his jaw, but he caught her wrist in mid-air and pulled it back down to her side, holding it.

She frowned but didn't protest, continuing. "It's about keeping my mutation a secret. As soon as someone knows I'm a mutant, they want to know what I can do."

"And what **can** you do?" Victor asked, his tone a clear warning that he was already pissed about what he thought her answer was going to be.

She gave him a curious glance, reading him correctly but not understanding the cause. "I . . . see the future."


	8. Chapter 8

"I . . . see the future."

He looked at her. The silence stretched as they stared at each other. Then, one dark eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "You see the future," he repeated.

She huffed in frustration. "And the past and the present. I'm clairvoyant."

He eased back, confusion replacing anger. "Why should I believe you?" 

"Can't you . . . smell if I'm lying?"

He grunted, which was code for yes, but he just didn't want to believe her. They were silent again for a moment. Then, he growled, "Prove it."

His frail barked a bitter laugh and shot out of her chair. Pacing around the room a little unsteadily, she ran her hands through her hair in frustration.

"Prove it?!" she swung around to face him. "How am I supposed to do that? Everything I tell you I could have gotten from another source or is in the future and so can't be validated!"

She was starting to get a little hysterical, so he grabbed her from where she'd stopped in the middle of the floor and sat down in the chair she'd just vacated pulling her into his lap.

She struggled a little but stopped as soon as he circled her throat with one big hand, his claws digging threateningly into her scalp. Burying his face in the hair at her neck, he growled, his teeth scraping intimidatingly against her throat, "Tell me somethin' no one else knows."

She gulped a he tightened his hand warningly and her mind raced, trying to come up with something to tell him.

He let her think a minute before biting her lightly along the jugular, only just drawing blood and ignoring her renewed struggles to get away. "Tell me something, frail," he rumbled, "prove this to me."

Maybe he didn't hear the desperation in his voice or maybe he just didn't care, but it was clear Victor wanted to believe her. He wanted her power to be anything other than mind control, wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"The night," she began, softly, hesitatingly, "the night you left home. Jimmy killed your father." She looked up at him, eyes all big and blue, "You've always been grateful to him for that. That he killed him for you . . . when you weren't strong enough."

He roared at that, shoving out of the chair, holding her up by her throat as she kicked and struggled.

"I can do anything that runt can do!" he roared in her face before dropping her.

Sprawling on the floor in front of him she panted. "I did what you wanted . . . No one else knows that . . . I was all I could think of."

He grinned at her evilly as he crouched down in front of her, enjoying her shudder and the renewed scent of fear. "You're right, frail," he said, kindly, too kindly for the sinister glint in his eye. He pulled a pair of flexi-cuffs out of one cargo pocket in his pants and grabbed her fragile wrists up.

As he applied them she stuttered, "What-what are you doing?"

"Takin' you back to base, Stryker wants you."

At his matter-of-fact words, she began to struggle wildly.

He just chuckled, pulling her to her feet so sharply she slammed into his chest.

"No. You **can't** take me to him. Stryker's a madman. I **won't** help him!"

He turned his back to her, yanking on her bound hands so she stumbled along after him and then, at the doorway, stopped. Turning to her, she shrank from the look on his face. It was pure predation.

"You'll do whatever I tell you, frail, because you can't stop me." He drug his claws lightly down her collarbone to the soft flesh of her breast, just breaking the skin, leaving red wounds behind. Skin he'd fondled oh-so-carefully in the past.

She swallowed thickly, the scent of fear suddenly pouring off her.

"No matter how valuable your power is, all it's gonna tell ya is how much I'll enjoy hurting you if you don't do everything I say." He bared his teeth in warning and slowly squeezed her breast, breaking the skin in five little holes, enjoying her whimper and the scent of blood. He watched, strangely disappointed as the light went out of her eyes, turning them a dull slate color.

She'd stopped resisting.

Annoyance returned, although he couldn't have said why and he tugged her along behind him from the apartment. "C'mon, frail, you've got an appointment to keep."


	9. Chapter 9

His frail stayed pretty quiet as he transported her to the compound. She followed him docilely as he led her inside to the room Stryker was using as his office, plunking her down into a chair facing him and standing behind her menacingly, arms crossed over his chest.

Stryker took his time, pretending to continue to read the files on the table in front of him. Victor knew he was just trying to unsettle his songbird and was pleased to note it had little effect. She was made of sterner stuff then that. She just relaxed into the chair and sighed, looking around the room with interest.

Stryker finally looked up, "Ah, Miss Beyhard, so glad you could join us." His false joviality fell flat when she didn't acknowledge him at all.

His eyes hardened. "Very well then, I invited you here tonight to extend an honor to you not many of your kind ever experience." He took a breath, dramatic as always, and Victor had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "I would like you to join our team here. Work with us, serve your country and enjoy freedoms and privileges you've never before had the opportunity to."

Victor thought about that. The only real freedoms he'd noticed here were the ability to rape and kill with little or no repercussions. He didn't think his frail would be all that interested in those particular privileges.

So, he was not surprised at all when she said, oh-so-sweetly, "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline." She even started to get up before Stryker'd realized what had happened and he motioned for Victor to stop her.

Victor dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder and she sank back down into the chair with no resistance, still not looking at him. He growled softly at her stubbornness.

"All right, if you don't want to do this nicely," Stryker began, now pacing in front of them. "Victor, take her to one of the permanent cells, get her settled, and then leave her there. We'll see how isolation affects her disposition."

It was odd, neither one of them seemed particularly surprised by the directive. Victor because he was used to how Stryker operated and his frail, well, he guessed it was because of her power. He'd have to think about that.

Victor grasped her upper-arm in his big hand and tugged her out of the chair. She followed along obediently, almost resignedly. He wondered just how much of this she'd known was going to happen. And just what else she might know.


	10. Chapter 10

As Victor led her through the maze of hallways that was the compound, he was already deciding where to put his frail. He'd use the cell at the far end of the abandoned cellblock. It was warmer there and the cells all had full doors, rather than bars, providing more privacy.

He dropped her off, not even releasing her hands as she stood looking so forlornly after him when he slammed shut the door. Stupid frail, he thought as he stalked off toward his rooms, she'd have to learn to trust him.

When he returned with another mattress, the soft sheets, blanket and pillow from his own bed and a couple of extra blankets, didn't want his frail catching cold after all, she was sitting dejectedly on the bare mattress.

She looked up in surprise as he came in and he almost snorted. Clearly her powers hadn't told her anythin' if she thought he wasn't comin' back.

He ignored her as he dropped the linens and elbowed her away so he could make the bed. After it was put together to his satisfaction, he turned to her, releasing her hands and pulling out of his back pocket two t-shirts and an old pair of boxers he'd never really worn. He growled a little as she tentatively took them from him, looking up at him with confused blue eyes. He liked the idea of her in his clothes and bedding; wrapped up in his scent.

"Why, Victor?" she finally asked softly, breaking the silence but still not looking at him.

He didn't bother to pretend he didn't know exactly what she meant. "Stryker has my loyalty."

That brought her head up. "And **I** don't?"

He grunted, frustrated, unable to come up with a satisfactory rebuttal.

She leaned toward him then, her eyes blazing blue with conviction. "Stryker is an evil man. He **will** betray you."

He growled at that. He didn't like that idea and he didn't like how hard she was pushing this. She wouldn't control him. She was just a frail. She had no hold over him. Frustrated with her and the entire situation, he spun on his heals and on the way out of the cell snapped over his shoulder, "Well, he hasn't **yet**," before slamming the door closed. Maybe Stryker was right, maybe a little time alone would sweeten her disposition.


	11. Chapter 11

A couple of days went by and Victor resisted visiting his songbird, although is was a great deal harder then he'd have liked. Finally, on the third day, he crept down to her cell.

When he eased open the door at the end of the corridor, he was surprised to here the sweet strains of music. His frail was singing. Pleased beyond measure he crept quietly down the hallway and settled himself against the wall next to her door.

His frail must have been bored because she spent the rest of the afternoon that singing. He had actually fallen into a doze, relaxed in way that only her voice could create, when he jerked awake at a noise at the end of the corridor.

It was Marrow, bringing his frail's dinner. Interesting. Apparently she warranted special attention. He supposed her type of mutation could be very useful to someone like Stryker.

He made eye contact with Marrow and as she opened her mouth to say something, he forestalled her with a clawed finger over his lips. He stood up and stretched, watching as she unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, listening to the soft murmur of their voices.

Satisfied that his frail was okay and not in any danger from Marrow he headed silently down the corridor, past her cell and out the door at the far side.

That's how he spent the rest of the week. In his spare time he'd creep down to her cell, unaccountably soothed by her soft singing or even just the wind and sigh of her breathing. He knew the rest of the team was curious about his out of character behavior, but he ignored them. He knew with Dukes gone and Wilson temporarily out of commission the others had no idea of their pre-existing connection. All they knew was that he was staking a claim and as far as he was concerned that was all they needed to know.

By the end of the week he was on edge. Usually, to cool off, he'd have gone off base for a little time with his songbird or, baring that, created a little extracurricular mayhem. But, he was stuck at the compound as there were no new mutants to track for Stryker and his frail was in solitary confinement. He'd thought about finding some other frail to bloody but, frankly, it didn't seem all that interesting and he didn't like the idea of leaving his songbird unprotected around his teammates and Stryker for any length of time. He'd almost decided: to hell with Stryker, she was his frail and he'd see her if he wanted, when the order'd come down to bring her before him.


	12. Chapter 12

He was more excited then he probably should be when he eased open the door of her cell. He stepped inside, closing the door softly, listening to the sound of her even breathing. She was asleep, curled up in a shaft of sunlight on her bed. He slunk over to her, crouching down beside her, watching her sleep. She looked beautiful, and wasn't that a stupid thought for him to be having, skin so translucent he could see all the lovely blue veins through it, her hair a dark cloud around her face.

He ran one claw down the delicate skin of her cheek, breathing in deep her delicious honey smell. "Wake up, frail."

Her lashes fluttered and she moaned softly in protest, her red lips parting. He couldn't resist and scraped his claw along the plump bottom one. Her lids rose slowly and her blue, blue eyes finally focused on his face. "Victor," she said, a welcoming smile curving her lips. He inhaled again, the sweet scent of her arousal tingling in the air.

Then her face shuttered, she'd remembered where she was and what had happened.

Huffing he stood back up. "C'mon then frail, Stryker wants ya."

She sat up slowly, pushing her tangled curls behind her shoulders, giving him a dark look. "Is that all it's going to be between us now, Victor? You as my warden?"

He leaned into her space, grinning evilly. "I **am** your warden. I'm your **everything**, frail. I **own** you."

She shook her head, her expression stubborn, "No, Victor. Stryker owns me, you're just the babysitter." She paused, looking at him searchingly. "What are you going to do when he orders you to kill me?"

He immediately didn't like that thought but scrambled to cover his vulnerability. He growled at her, hoping to shut her up, "Then kill you, frail. And enjoy it."

She was silent the rest of the way to Stryker, the scent of pain heavy in the air. He was almost tempted to say something to reassure her, but refrained. He wasn't weak; he wasn't Jimmy to be talked into pandering to his frail's every whim. Stryker wouldn't order her death; she was too valuable. He'd make sure of it.

He brought her to the same room, sitting her down in the same chair, and Stryker did his same ignoring her routine. God the man was predictable. This time Victor couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Finally, he looked up, "Miss Beyhard. How lovely to see you again. How was your time in isolation?"

His frail didn't answer, just staring at him, but the scent of anger and fear rose off her in waves. He didn't like it; it made him twitchy.

Stryker, he was amused to note, was quite flustered by his frail's lack of acknowledgment. He tried to remember if anyone had tried this tack before and didn't think they had. Interesting, he'd have to remember that for when Stryker annoyed him.

He started pacing again, "From your refusal to speak, am I to suppose your continued refusal to cooperate with this organization?"

Once again, his songbird didn't respond, just staring right through Stryker.

Stryker broke, leaning down in front of her and grabbing the chair arms. "Do you know what I can do to you if you refuse to cooperate?" he all but yelled.

Victor had to catch himself from an instinctive protective movement he'd almost made. He'd have to watch this; this frail was really splitting his focus.

She still didn't respond, just watching Stryker.

"Clearly you are not taking this seriously. Was solitary confinement to easy for you? Well," he stepped back from her, standing up strait, looking all too satisfied, "perhaps you'll be better motivated some other another way."

He looked at Victor then and Victor made sure his face was in its usual subtly mocking grin. He didn't want Stryker to have any inkling of his attachment to this particular frail.

Stryker turned on his heel and gathered all the papers up from the table. As he strode out of the room, he looked at her one more time, saying viciously, "Victor. Rape her," before slamming the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

"Victor. Rape her."

Victor just stared at the closed door, completely not comprehending what had just happened. Stryker wanted him to rape his frail. It wasn't unheard of. He'd done it on Stryker's orders before and enjoyed it. He'd wanted to fuck his songbird for months, and now, given the perfect opportunity he didn't want to because it was **forced**. What was wrong with him?

He was distracted by the rustle of cloth, and he turned around to see his frail'd gotten up. She was looking at him, hard, her eyes searching. Just as he was thinking, he'd give her something to think about. She nodded sort of like she'd made some decision and started to take off her shirt.

He gapped at her as she stripped, just completely not computing what was going on. Had the world gone insane? "What're you doin', frail?" he finally growled, starting toward her. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got to her.

She looked at him for a second, another searching look, then bent over to unhook her bra, and said, "You can't rape the willing, Victor."

Now she was down to just little black panties with some kind of pattern on them, he found them very distracting. He forced himself to look at her face, "What?"

She slid her thumbs under the waistband like she was about to slide them off, and then seemed to think better of it, leaving them on.

He swallowed thickly.

She stepped up to him and slid her cool little hands under the hem of his shirt, the second they made contact with his skin; he swore he felt a shock. She cuddled up to him him, whispering again, "You can't rape the willing."

His brain finally grasped a thought and smiled. His frail was **smart**; she'd found the solution to their problem. He looked down at her, "You ready for this, frail. I ain't gonna go easy, not if we want Stryker to believe it."

"I trust you."

"You shouldn't." He grinned at her ferally, and grabbed her up by the waist, enjoying her gasp. He wrapped her long bare legs around his hips and walked over to the nearest wall, pressing her against it. He growled at the feel of her warm, center pressed against him, and swooped down for a drugging his, allowing his sharp teeth to scrape and draw blood from her lips.

She moaned, arching, pressing her breasts against him and started to frantically tug on his shirt. She whimpered, frustrated, when she couldn't get it any higher then his pecks, and he pulled back to help her.

He dropped his shirt to the floor and bent back down to his frail. He cupped one ripe breast in his big hand, reveling in her gasping and arching as he drug his claws down it, leaving raised red marks but careful not to break the skin.

When he pulled his hand away, she moaned brokenly and pulled at his head, fisting her hands in his hair and trying to draw him back to her. He grinned; he hadn't realized just how delicious having a frail plead to get **closer** rather than further away from him would be.

He rumbled soothingly at her before fisting his hand in her little black patterned panties and ripping them off. He loved it when she gasped like that.

He propped her up against the wall a little more, spreading her legs wider with his knee. He reached down and oh-so-carefully probed her nether-lips with one, curled up knuckle, mindful of his claw, he wouldn't want to cut her . . . at least not accidently.

She gasped and shuddered, moaning, "Victor," breathlessly.

Oh, he liked that.

He rubbed his knuckle against her again, burying his face in the curls at her neck, when she gasped out brokenly, "Please, please, **pleeease** . . ."

He wanted to bury himself in her scent, to roll them both together until the smell would never come out. There'd only be them, forever marked by each other.

As she squirmed against him, he reached down and freed himself from his pants; suddenly glad he rarely wore underwear. He readjusted her against the wall and seated himself against the feminine flesh weeping against him.

They both moaned.

He eased into her, not thrusting, but just letting her weight bring them together. He was being particularly careful not to hurt her. He wasn't a small man and he'd ripped up frails before. Suddenly, he didn't like the idea of doing that to **this** frail. **His** frail.

She moaned and whimpered, but he, even with his limited repertoire, could tell they were pleasure sounds. Finally, once he was fully seated, he held still for a moment, wanting to give her time to adjust, until she began struggling and attempting to rock against him.

He grinned, whispering evilly, "You ready, frail?"

"Yes. **Please**!" she said desperately, her eyes burning blue at him, clearly frustrated.

Then, he started thrusting and her eyes rolled back into her head.

It was amazing. She was so wet and hot and tight. Perfection. With her scent surrounding him and her little moans and squeals, her pleading with him, "Oh, Victor, harder, faster, oh, please, **please**." He couldn't think of a time he'd been more excited. It was such a rush to have someone want him so badly.

Soon, she was cresting, tightening around him like a fist, and she keened long and loud. He couldn't get enough of it.

He sped up this thrusting, quickly reaching the end of his resistance, burying his face in the crook of her neck, taking long deep breaths of her honey scent. When he quickened and groaned, something about her soft skin against his lips pulled at him and he didn't even try to resist the urge to sink his teeth in there.

She squealed, but even through the fog of orgasm, he could tell she liked it, at least a little bit, and he let himself go.

When he came back down, he was licking at the wound there, and she was holding him to her with all the strength in her little frail arms and legs. He eased away a little and she looked up at him, all blue eyes and said hoarsely, "God, Victor . . ."

He grinned at her. He was really starting to like this frail. And stepped away from the wall, lifting her off him. She stumbled a little and he grabbed her arm before she could fall. He waited until she was steady and then let her go. She started rooting around on the floor, looking for her clothes, and he just stood there watching her. His frail was beautiful.


	14. Chapter 14

After they dressed, Victor ripped his songbird's shirt down the middle, not all the way, though, he didn't want to give away the farm, but enough so that plenty of cleavage was showing and the bloody bite on her neck could be clearly seen. Frankly, she looked pretty roughed up; there were hickeys, scratches and little bruises all over her chest, neck and shoulders.

She looked like **his**.

She pulled him from his thoughts when she asked, "How's this?" She looked up at him and seemed to shrink. Suddenly, she was frightened and cowed looking, flinching away from him.

He grunted, surprised by her acting ability. If he couldn't smell her complete lack of fear, he'd have believed it. "Pretty good, frail." he said over his shoulder as he went to open the door and have the guard there let Stryker know she was ready.

When he arrived, they were in their places, with Victor leaning against the table, picking his claws and watching his frail predatorily. She sat huddled in the chair in the middle of the room again, looking fearful.

Stryker took them in with a glance, believing exactly what all the evidence pointed to. The frail was broken and he was pleased.

He settled himself behind the table, re-spreading out all his files. Victor could tell it annoyed him that he hadn't moved from his leaning position in front of the table, but he didn't say anything. Victor smirked.

"So, Miss Beyhard, have you reconsidered your position on assisting with our work here?"

She nodded shortly, flicking a fear-filled glance at Victor who leered at her. Stryker didn't notice the slight upward quirk of her lips before she lowered her head again.

"I thought that might be the case," he continued pompously. "Very well then," Stryker flipped through the files on the table, "I have a couple of questions for you. Let's start with the easy one, shall we?" It was clearly a rhetorical question, as he didn't even pause, "There's a young mutant whose power is optical blasts. I would like to know where we can find him and the time and location from which he will successfully apprehended."

His frail just looked at Stryker. This was clearly a test to see if she'd give him correct information. He suspected Stryker already knew right where the kid was.

Finally, she spoke, her voice curiously flat, "Scott Summers, sixteen, living somewhere in Maryland, you'll find him in a multi-story brick high school, in detention after school," she peeked quickly at Victor, "**he**," meaning Victor, and man could she put a lot of fear and disgust into one little world, "takes him."

Stryker smiled, apparently satisfied, "Detention you say? Excellent." He made a notation in his files.

"All right then, Miss Beyhard, the harder question: I have a strategy, if you will, in the works concerning a mutant with abilities very similar to Victor's here." He waved toward him. "Accelerated healing, heightened senses and bone claws."

Victor had to refrain from snorting. As if anyone didn't know exactly who he was talking about.

"I would like to know if this strategy will be successful and any . . . adjustments I might need to make to see my goals happen."

Now, Victor was interested. He knew Stryker wanted to cover Jimmy's bones in some kinda indestructible metal, but couldn't figure a way to get him to volunteer for it.

She began slowly, "Yes, your . . . plan works. Revenge is an excellent motivator. But . . . you don't need to kill SilverFox. A dose of Hydrochlorothiazide, a little blood," she shook her head, ruefully, "he falls for it."

He looked at her coldly. "Why would I care?"

She stared at him, her eyes glowing and electric. "Conservation of resources."

He thought about that for a minute. Then nodded like he'd decided something. He turned to Victor. "Take her back to her cell. You can play with her but no permanent damage."

His frail gasped in outrage. "I thought if I cooperated, I'd be part of the team!"

Stryker smiled coldly at her, gathering up his papers and preparing to leave. "Let's call this your . . . probationary period. Victor here will keep an eye on you. And if your predictions pan out . . . then we'll see."

He strode out of the room and as the door shut behind him, his frail muttered, "Bastard."

He barked a laugh and held out his hand to her, "C'mon, frail. Lets get you back to your cell."


	15. Chapter 15

Victor walked his frail back to her cell in silence. He was thinking.

He was thinking about how she had known all about Stryker's plans, that kid with the laser vision and how she had known about Jimmy. It made him wonder what else she knew; if she had known about him before they'd met and if so, why she hadn't run as fast and as hard as she could in the other direction. Most frails would've.

When they entered her small cell, she immediately crossed the room, flopping down on her cozy little bed. She looked up in surprise as he closed the door with him still inside.

Victor paced over to her slowly, crouching down in front of her.

She looked at him curiously, still no hint of fear in her scent. And if that didn't gall him, he didn't know what did.

He shook his head like a dog, banishing that train of thought. Now was not the time to get distracted.

"You know about Stryker's plans." He didn't pause; it was clearly not a question. "You know about the kid with the laser vision, you know about Jimmy and you know about me . . . what else do you know, frail?"

She frowned at him and snorted crossing her arms under her delectable breasts.

He shook his head again. Now was really not the time to get distracted.

"I'm not a fortune teller." The derision in her voice could cut glass.

He growled, not liking how she was defying him. He leaned in toward her, wrapping one large hand around her throat threateningly, "You'll be whatever I say you'll be, frail." He sneered at her, "Now, tell me my fortune."

While previously she'd been all but complacent when he'd threatened her, now she shrieked in rage and started pounding her little fists against his chest, ignoring the claws so close to her jugular. "I. Do. Not. Tell. **Fortunes**!"

He just stared at her, completely taken aback. Of any reaction he could have predicted this would not have been one of them.

She continued raining blows on him; but really, he barely felt them, as she shrieked. "I am not some kind of-of- fucking charlatan! Hovering over a crystal ball and-and . . . making up nonsense! How dare you . . . you Bastard!" she started to gasp for breath, clearly incensed and all he could think was how good she looked all flushed and writhing against him.

He should be mad. This was a clear questioning of his authority. But he just couldn't bring up the emotion.

Finally, tired of the high-pitched shrieks she was making, he switched his grip on her throat to the base of her skull and pulled her into a kiss. She struggled anew and mumbled a coupla things against his lips, but, fast enough to add to his already considerable ego, she moaned and clutched him to her.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, licking up the little bit of blood from where his fangs had abraded her lip. She lay back on the bed, panting, big blue eyes just watching him.

"Alright, frail. You don't tell fortunes. I get it." Now he was placating her. He was so pussy whipped. He narrowed his eyes, trying to show her he was still boss. "That mean you won't tell me anythin'?"

"No . . ." she began softly, sullenly, "I'd tell you if there's something you need to know . . . warn you if you were in danger. It's just . . . it's not a trick, it's not . . . entertainment." She sniffed then, pushing back tears and he didn't like it.

He growled and gathered her up in his arms lying down on her bed and arranged her on his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

She pushed against him a little, but he ignored it, settling her down once again with a brusque, "Rest frail, you'll need it."

He had plans for her.


	16. Chapter 16

The next day, much to his frustration, he was called away on a job. He had to go to a carnival in the middle of nowhere Ohio and take care of Bradley. Stryker said make sure it was bloody; he wanted it in the papers.

This didn't sit all that well with Victor. He'd never had a problem with Bradley. Frankly, the kid'd hardly even been on his radar and killing one of your own, a mutant and a member of the team, just to get Jimmy's attention, well . . . it seemed a like waste to him.

But, Victor pushed those thoughts away. It wasn't his place to question why. Stryker gave the orders, kept him in blood and smokes. He had a good thing goin' and he wasn't gonna question it. Bradley was gonna die soon anyway, they all did, eventually.

Once he was back, after a nice long night in bed with his frail, it was time for the weekly poker game they had at the compound. Wilson'd started it, way back when, and even though he was out of commission right now, they kept it up. Usually it was just him, Zero, Marrow and Mastodon. Not really enough for a good game, but now they had his songbird. They'd see how she did.

Two hours into it and she was doing very well indeed. Only slightly behind him, and he was king with his ability to read minute changes in body rhythms making telling bluff from solid hand effortless. Just now she and Zero were getting into it. He was out and trying to trade favors to finish the hand and she wasn't having any of it.

"You're still locked up at night, only let out under **his** supervision." Zero said snidely.

Man he was a shit, Victor thought baring his teeth at him.

"You could use a favor from me."

"No, I couldn't." His songbird replied, cool as you please. "I prefer the cash."

Zero bristled. "I'm Stryker's right hand man. You really think that overgrown stray cat can **really** do anything for you in here?"

Victor growled warningly at him, but sat back. He was letting his frail hand this.

She just smirked at Zero. "Yes. I do. Better than you can, anyway," She stared right at him, her eyes glowing blue and everyone held their breath, even Victor. In the silence her words dropped coldly. "You'll be dead by the end of the week."

There was no need to question it, no way to be anything but absolutely sure, as she was.

Zero stumbled out of his chair, shocked.

They all watched as he collected himself, anger replacing shock on his face "What-Who . . . who does it?"

He leaned over the table, trying to intimidate her. But not **his** songbird, oh, no, when you've been routinely intimidated by him, Victor Creed, piss-ants like Zero couldn't cut it. She smiled, a slightly evil smirk and for the first time, Victor found himself questioning exactly what she was capable of.

"Tell me!" Zero finally shouted, his composure broken in the face of hers.

Her smiled just widened, and she whispered, "A Wolverine."

"What?!" Zero shouted. "What the fuck kind of answer is **that**?!"

She smiled at him mockingly, his frail was **such** a little firebrand, and answered, "The only one you're going to get."

Rage darkened his face and, faster then most eyes could see, if not Victor's, he drew out a gun, taking aim at Victor's frail.

Victor roared, out of his chair and on Zero before he even got the gun level. It rattled away amidst the debris from the overturned poker table. Mastodon and Marrow backed up. They'd both tangled with Victor before and weren't interested in doing it again.

He quickly pinned Zero, snatching his hand away before he could reach another gun and pressed his face into the floor.

Claws lengthening threateningly, Victor palmed his head and leaned into his squashed face, as he struggled. "Did you just try to kill my frail, boy?"

Zero was only able to grunt unintelligibly and struggle some more.

"That's what I thought happened," Victor continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe you're not gonna be killed by a Wolverine, **maybe**," he ground his skull against the concrete floor, enjoying his squeal of pain, "you're gonna be killed right now, by **me**."

Victor took a deep breath of the fear now coming off him in waves.

Without turning to look at her, he asked his frail, "You want me to kill him?" and watched Zero's eyes bug out in terror.

"No . . ." she said shakily from behind him, "please don't, Victor."

He loved it when she pleaded so prettily with him and lately he'd found it pleased him greatly to give her what she wanted.

"Alright." He said as he crouched down further, getting right into Zero's face, lowering his voice to a threatening growl, "You don't touch my frail, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe in her direction or I will. **Kill**. You . . . you got me?" he shook him a little and Zero nodded frantically in agreement.

He realized he'd made an enemy today, but . . . it wasn't like he and Zero'd ever really gotten along. And, anyway, if his songbird was right he'd be dead inside of a week and he wouldn't hafta worry about him.

Pleased, he pushed off Zero and stalked over to his frail, ignoring both Marrow and Mastodon, still standing in the same spots watching their little tableau. He scooped his songbird up, bridal style, enjoying her little "Eep!" of surprise. He knew Marrow and Mastodon weren't stupid enough to filch his winnings, so he left them scattered on the floor. He felt a sudden need for a little one-on-one with his frail.


	17. Chapter 17

In the next week, he spent most of his time out of the compound. He'd had to frame up SilverFox's death for Jimmy, and then enjoyed a nice bar fight. Then picked up that laser eye'd little shit and then headed to New Orleans to kill Wraith. **That** he'd enjoyed. And then he'd finally headed on back to his frail. It was strange how much he'd missed her, but he tried not to think too much about it. Instead, once he'd reported in, he'd headed straight down to her cell and spent the next thirty-six hours smothering himself in her. They only came up for air when he'd gotten the news that Jimmy'd hit the base. Now, it was time for the show.

As he crouched, watching Jimmy learn the truth of his betrayal by Stryker and SilverFox, instead of enjoying Jimmy's comeuppance or even relishing the confirmation that all frails were lying, manipulative little bitches and vowing never to let one get her hooks into **him**, he found all he could think was: this must have been how his frail had felt when he brought her in for Stryker; betrayed.

And yet . . . she still welcomed him into her bed and into her body. She smiled at him, like no other frail had ever before her and suddenly . . . he felt lucky to have found her and . . . grateful?

He had a hard time identifying the emotion running through him, since it was so unfamiliar. But once he realized what it was, a wave of rage flowed over him. He hated this turmoil, this . . . uncertainty. These frail emotions were bullshit and usually he was better than that. Used to be everything was simple, easy. But now . . . with these frails fuckin' everythin' up, makin' him and Jimmy weak . . . he didn't like it. He couldn't allow himself to be so vulnerable.

With that in mind he stalked over to Stryker and SiverFox now that Jimmy'd been smart and walked out.

He'd tried. He'd tried so hard to bring Jimmy with him. He'd been willing to die to prove to him, that he was an animal too. He'd needed it so desperately. But, Jimmy, that goddamn runt, had weaseled out at the last minute. He'd decided he was a man, not an animal.

Victor rolled over and groaned, spitting blood out of his mouth. He hated getting knocked out, always left him with a headache. He stared around him at the empty stone walls. He didn't know what to do now. He couldn't bring Jimmy with him, couldn't make him an animal too.

His mind suddenly jumped to his frail. He could picture her in her little cell, curled up in the sunlight like she usually was, all soft pale skin and fragile bones.

Maybe . . . maybe if Jimmy wouldn't be an animal, he could try to be a man with Jimmy. He thought about his songbird. She treated him like a man, never flinching from him or judging him for some of the things he did. Suddenly, it seemed that much closer to his grasp, closer then it'd ever been before, in all his long life.

Yeah, he thought, standing up and heading for his frail's cell, it was time to leave this place **and** Stryker.


	18. Chapter 18

Olivia's head jerked up as Victor slammed into her cell, not so unexpectedly.

He strode over to her, grabbing her up and putting her on her feet in front of the bed. "Get your shit together, frail. We're leavin'." He growled at her as he grabbed up an army issue duffle and started stuffing clothes into it.

She couldn't help the smile that broke over her face. She'd hoped for this outcome, done everything she could to see it through, but ultimately it had been up to Victor.

He finished what he was doing and then swung around to look at her. "What're you doin', frail, standin' there starin' at me? We ain't got time for this."

He stomped over to her, aggravated and Olivia grabbed him around the neck and hugged him, not able to contain herself.

He stood stock-still for a second, confused as to what was going on, but then the feel of her soft body and her honey scent pulled him in and he relaxed, gathering her up against him.

"I love you, Victor." She whispered, tilting her head back and pulling away just enough so she could meet his eyes.

He felt himself flush a little at her words. He wouldn't have thought he'd have cared if a frail said she loved him, but he found he did . . . at least a little. He rumbled at her and squeezed her to him. He felt like he oughta say something back but he wasn't gonna profess his undying love. He wasn't **that** whipped.

He looked down at her; all big blue eyes and dark tumble of hair. She was beautiful, his frail. He ran a claw delicately down her cheek, purring at the way she leaned toward him, rather than away. "You're mine, frail, that good enough for ya?"

Olivia just smiled at him, knowing what he really meant. "Yeah, Victor, that's good enough for me."

They trooped out of the room and headed out of the compound. Victor was liking the idea of putting this place to his back, more and more. They were almost to the hanger where he had a jeep hidden, when his songbird gasped and grabbed his forearm.

"Victor, you've got to go!"

He grinned at her. "We **are** goin', frail."

"No, Victor, seriously, Jimmy's in trouble."

He brushed her off, heading to the jeep and dropping the duffle in it. He already had it packed with clothes for him and other supplies. "Jimmy can take care of himself." He grumbled, still a little angry at the way he'd abandoned him five years ago.

"He could **die**!"

He turned to look at her, standing tall and furious in the middle of the hanger. She was serious.

"Jimmy can't die. He's like me."

"I **know** that, Victor. I'm serious; he. Will. **Die** if you don't go help him."

Convinced by her conviction, he felt a chill run through him. "Alright," he picked his songbird up, plopping her into the driver's seat and handed her the keys, "stay here, wait for me. But, if somebody comes, just head out, I'll catch you up."

"You're sure?" she said, all big eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure, frail." He growled, grabbing her by the back of the head for a swift, deep kiss. He pulled back and looked at her one last time before jogging out of the hanger.

She called after him, "Be careful. I love you." And he couldn't help but feel a new warmth in his heart.


End file.
